


In This Space

by SaeUmmShhh



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is a Saint, Batfam! - Freeform, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Big Brother Jason Todd, Birthday Fluff, Bruce is trying, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian and Jon are best friends, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Holding Hands, I can't think of anything else to tag, Implied Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Protective Damian Wayne, Sleepy Cuddles, Songfic, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim is Two years older than Damian, Tim isn't officially adopted in this AU, Underage Kissing, absolutely self-indulgent TimDami, also this is my first DC fic so pls don't murder me if there's any inaccuracies, but also sentimental and romantic as all heck, but they were both underage, omg they pine so much, they're just emotionally constipated idiots, what are they? 50?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaeUmmShhh/pseuds/SaeUmmShhh
Summary: What happens when you put two emotionally constipated teens with pride and trust issues in a team where they have to work together?Nothing good apparently, which is why Tim ultimately left the Wayne manor three years ago. But some things don't change no matter how much you want them to, and facing Damian again after all these years won't undo all the damage between them. So why, why, why is Tim of all people volunteering to buy a cake for his birthday? He doesn't...miss him, does he? Oh god, oh HELL NO--Or alternatively,A TimDami songfic! based on Empty Space by James Arthur.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Comments: 31
Kudos: 159





	1. The Missing Link

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, just to fill in some details here so no one is confused later:
> 
> -This is inspired by James Arthur's Empty Space, so chapter names and the plot is loosely based on that.  
> -The pov switches from Tim to Dami between chapters  
> -This story takes place mainly in the present but flashbacks do abound so watch out for those!  
> -I headcanon-ed Tim to be 2 years older than Dami, so sorry if that's OOC for some people  
> -Dami is 18 & Tim is 20 in the present  
> -Dami is 15 and Tim is 17 in the beginning of the flashbacks  
> -Tim isn't adopted in this AU, and this does play an important role in the events of this story  
> -But Tim still refers to, and sees Dick and Jason as his brother figures since he's used to it  
> -Past Tim/Kon and Tim/Steph is mentioned briefly, but won't be discussed too much in this fic  
> -I might explore those in another work tho since i want to make this part of a series, it depends
> 
> Finally, this really is my first DC robin fic, it's not much and I'm still very new to the fandom so I apologize if I make any mistakes. Please enjoy, and hit me up in the comments below and leave a kudos if you like the story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping for cakes will be fun, they said. Shopping for cakes will be the easiest thing to do, they said.

_Mango and Passionfruit?_ Hmm, too sweet.

 _Red velvet?_ Absolutely not.

"Sir, have you made your decision yet?"

Tim's eyes furrowed further, glancing undecidedly along the intimidating selection of organic vegan cakes. Now, he vaguely knew when he volunteered (Insisted? Demanded?? Bribed???) to take up this errand that this establishment was a famous artisanal bakery, but surely, _surely_...there were one too many vegan cakes that should be allowed to exist in a row. 

And they all looked virtually the same to him. Tsk.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. This really shouldn't be taking him that long. He should have let Dick come along after all, but no--- He just had to do everything on his own without anyone’s help. _And how has that worked out for you so far,_ his inner voice cheekily asked. Well, no matter now. His frustration and obsessive (habitual?) analyzing was currently unnecessary to the task at hand. Breathe; he could do this.

Realizing that the employee was still waiting for his answer, he shook his head for the umpteenth time that evening, and the employee kindly stepped back. _It’s just a birthday cake_ , he reminded himself, craning his neck closer to the pristine glass casing till his nose was in danger of leaving an actual print, as if that would make any perceivable difference. 

His phone began to ring. The lady standing behind him huffed in impatience, her black kitten heels clicking repeatedly on the tiled marble floor. Tim sheepishly stepped aside; despite how it looked, he was actually quite aware he was holding up the line. His phone rang some more.

Resigned, Tim finally straightened his back and picked it up.

"No, Dick I _haven't_ bought the cake yet and, _yes,_ I know I'm running late—" he began.

"Tim, the party starts in less than an hour and it's been 3 since you've first stepped in that bakery. This is getting ridiculous even for you," Dick interrupted.

"Yeah, but have you seen the selection, D? There's fifteen options... _Fifteen!_ For a damn vegan cake!"

"Tim."

"And they all look the same, but their description says otherwise, and I swear, it's a fucking cardinal sin to make mint chocolate chip and tiramisu cakes the same exact frosting colour—"

" _Tim_."

Dick's voice felt different. Strained, almost. Tim fell silent.

"Look, Timmy I-" Dick paused, you could almost hear him rearranging the words in his head, "I understand...that it's nerve-wracking to come home after so long, but you don't have to make everything perfect. You do _know_ that, right?"

Tim nodded and hummed slightly. It wasn't really about that, but he supposed maybe he did feel a little uncomfortable about seeing the Wayne manor, and subsequently everyone again after 3 years. That place had never felt quite right for him, but in some ways he supposed he did miss parts of it.

A part of it, anyway.

"...need me to come over, just say the word," Dick's voice came through his reverie.

"Oh yeah, no there's really no need. I'll-" He gestured vaguely in the air with his free hand, "-figure something out. Just leave the front gate unlocked, I'll close it myself when I get there."

Dick agreed, "Fine, but if you don't show up in half an hour, I'm changing the passcode again and this time, I'll make it an MCU endgame spoiler so hurry on up, Timbo. We miss you."

Tim rolled his eyes, Timbo was such an old nickname. Only a cheesy big brother like Dick could possibly make it sound fond instead of lame.

"We'll see about that, circus clown," he grinned before pressing the end call button, hearing his older adoptive brother's indignant splutters cut off abruptly on the other end.

Accidentally, he looked at his phone's lock screen, lighting up for a few brief seconds. It was motion-blurred, a younger Tim laughing while holding the phone clearly gloating triumphantly about taking the picture, while an anonymous hand hung comfortably around his neck and the other outstretched, reaching for the phone and effectively blocking out their own face, the sun barely rising from the window behind them.

To anyone else, they'd be hard-pressed to guess who that was in the picture, beyond the basics; the person was obviously male with tanned olive skin about his age, and had dark, messy bangs and scars along their arms and chest. His teammates and college friends both have- and oh, have they tried and pried to no avail, Tim kept his mouth firmly sealed shut each time.

Still, he knew the rest of the Bat family would recognize those rugged features anywhere. Damian was the very picture of cool, yet dignified elegance in public at all times except on lazy Saturday mornings where he had adopted Dick and Jason's habit of sleeping in until 2 in the afternoon; his usually slicked back hair sticking up in 26 different directions and his perfectly pressed button up pajamas beginning to crease at the corners, witty snark at the ready.

Tim bit back a slowly forming smile. It was hard not to, there were only fond memories tied to this picture. Memories of a happier time, where everything was just starting to feel so easy and natural. A time he should have forgotten and locked away, but didn't.

He clicked off his phone, making a mental reminder to change the lockscreen before he got to the manor. It wouldn't do to let them see this. Not that the picture itself was incriminating in any sense of the word, but seeing him and Damian laughing and getting along in a photo would be weird enough to anyone even without putting together other context clues, like the fact that they were both shirtless and under Tim's blanket, with his apartment window in the background.

Not exactly the first topic he'd pick for a long overdue family gathering at the dinner table. "Oh this silly old photo? Just two dudes being bros, totally platonic, absolutely no canoodling involved!"

He scoffed. It really was true, though.

The only reason Damian and him were shirtless was because they had stripped off their soiled costumes in favour of showering and actually smelling like functioning humans for once. And they had only crashed at his apartment because it was merely a block down the street from their nightly patrol and it was nearly daybreak. All fairly innocent, he would say.

Up until that photo was taken anyway.

He stuffed his phone back in his pocket, and proceeded to line up again. Normally his deductive skills would have made this easier but you can't exactly hack a cake and analyze each and every ingredient to decide which is better. Not without utterly misusing the Batlab of its intended purpose, at least. Now If Dick was here, he'd pick the most decadent-looking one, Jason would simply grab the employee by the collar and ask not-so-nicely to make one exactly to order and Damian--

He sighed. If Damian was here, he wouldn't be in this predicament. Damian had always been one to know exactly what he wanted, and to pursue it with every ounce of determination and grit he possessed. He was like his father in that sense, at least.

Tim arrived at the front of the line, the employee smiling patiently at him. People in the service industry really have the most patience, he thought. Maybe he should tip them, or is that even allowed in a bakery?

He shook his head. He's even beginning to sound like him, that soft, caring brat.

He breathed out slowly. He could do this, he is Timothy Jackson Drake, the current second best detective in the world, genius hacker and degree-holding biologist. Picking the best birthday cake is no big deal. Think. Think like Damian. What would he pick?

A stray memory pops up. 

"The matcha and vanilla one with the dark chocolate bat on it, please."

The employee barely concealed a sigh of relief. Tim really should tip them, he decided.

"Very well, sir. That will be $96 please," Tim's eyes nearly fell out, "-unless this is a birthday cake, in which case there's a 15% discount?" the employee offered helpfully.

Tim winced as he gratefully handed over his credit card, it wasn't like he couldn't afford it now that he was working part-time at Wayne Enterprises, but his old scrimping habits from college were hard to shake off.

He was never technically _poor,_ his real parents were comfortable enough back then and Bruce was never shy sharing his money and vast resources with his young wards (Tim very much included). But it never felt right to use any of it beyond absolutely necessary, and besides, it felt good being able to feel like he was earning his keep. To feel like he had a right to belong.

Nevertheless, nothing but the best for his--

"Name, sir?"

Tim blanked. "Sorry, what?"

"The name on the cake, would you like to add it?" The employee clarified, vanilla icing at the ready.

"Damian Wayne, spelt with an 'm-i-A-n’, thanks."

"Sure thing, let me just put this in a box, uhh how many candles-?"

Tim repressed the sudden urge to finger-gun and say something stupid like, "16 Candles, the movie aha," and replied appropriately:

"Eighteen please, thank you."

The employee nodded, and whisked the cake to the back to be boxed and packaged.

Tim let out a breath of relief he didn't know he was holding in. The last time he was here in Gotham he was barely eighteen himself. He was already enrolled in college at 16, and began living on his own at 17. Between being Red Robin, a teenaged college student and one of the more important shareholders of W.E and third “adoptive” son (surface level, really) of the owner of said enterprise, he wondered how he had time to breathe at all back then.

He picked up the green-ribboned cake box, gave his thanks once more and discreetly slipped a couple of cash notes to the cashier, who looked confused at first, then beamed at him.

"Your boyfriend is a lucky man! Thank you and please come again!"

Tim's face heated up, stuttering, "No, no he's not my--uhh, just a family friend, I uh, have to go now okaythankyoubye-"

He tripped out of the bakery in record time, slamming his car door and groaned into his hands. Good job, Tim. Real subtle. If even a no-name part-timer could tell that much from just seeing how he looked at his phone, he really needed to control his facial expressions better.

And change that damned phone wallpaper.

He placed the cake box carefully in the passenger's seat, then reached for his phone. It blinked on, showing the time.

Damn, he had barely 20 minutes left. He should make this quick. He scrolled through his gallery for something less obvious, maybe a picture of Titus or Alfred (the cat) would do. Hmm, maybe BatCo--

He paused at a certain picture. It was a picture of grumpy Damian lying in the hospital, thoroughly bandaged and holding up a crooked middle finger at the camera. He didn't remember taking this. Probably taken by Dick or Cass, sent to him to make him feel guilty.

After all, he was sort of the reason Damian ended up there. The painful memory still painted vividly in his mind.

  
  


══════════════════

_[Three Years Ago]_

_An angry fifteen year old Damian was really a sight to behold, face all flushed and teeth bared. And clearly bleeding from the left side of his upper torso. They had barely reached the Batcave to tend to their wounds, but of course they were at each other's throats again before five minutes had passed._

_"I SAID, get up Drake!"_

_Tim struggled to his feet, white knuckles gripping his staff, willing himself the strength to not shove the damn thing down Damian's big mouth. The target that they'd been staking out for months had run off after Damian had rushed in a little too early yet again, ruining all their hard work for nothing. And right after he had explicitly told him to wait; to trust him. Tim was more than irritated, he was FUMING. And he said as much to Damian, why should he hold back any longer when he clearly wasn't respected or trusted enough to do his damn job?_

_"Fuck off, brat. I mean it," he growled._

_Damian didn't so much as flinch, but narrowed his eyes, bringing his katana blade dangerously close to Tim's chest._

_"Then. Take. It. Back." Damian spat._

_Tim scoffed. "Which part? The part about how you still act like a petulant child? That you're irrational and a walking time bomb? Or-," he paused, "The part where I said you're an ill fit for the Robin mantle?"_

_Damian's hands shook ever so slightly. His voice, steely yet betrayed a small sliver of vulnerability and hurt,_

_"You don't—...Tt."_

_**You don’t actually mean that.** _

_His deep emerald eyes, normally so steady and sure, now dull, his pupils slightly widened. His eyes were always so honest, compared to his lips. Asking Tim to deny it. To reassure him that it wasn't true._

_The air hung silent and heavy between them._

_Tim broke eye contact first, quietly gathering his torn costume and stuffing it into his laptop bag. Of course he didn't mean it. Damian was a proven martial arts and intellectual prodigy who’d earned his rightful spot as Robin fair and square. But Tim’s pride refused to let him admit it right now. He had worked so hard, had treated Damian so patiently over and over, had tried getting along with him despite being looked down on in the past, even tried to come to terms with being overlooked over the favoured blood son._

_Tim had tried. So. Fucking. Much._

_And he genuinely thought it was getting better recently, that **they** were getting better, but clearly he still wasn’t good enough for Damian to trust him. He was tired. It was bad enough living in Jason's shadow back then, but Damian knew exactly what Tim's buttons were. And of course, he'd gone and pushed every single one._

_He avoided looking at a seemingly frozen Damian, who's hands now hung limp at his side, and walked out from the Batcave, shutting the hidden entrance door behind him and sliding his back against it. Heart heaving and fighting the tears, he squeezed his eyes firmly shut. For a few beats, besides the heavy rain, everything fell quiet and dark around him._

_A muffled, choked sob echoed from beyond the door behind him._

_Tim got up and ran._

_He ran and he ran and he never looked back._

  
  


══════════════════

  
  


Tim snapped back to the present. He glanced to his right, almost expecting Damian to be there. Like he used to be.

The green cake box stared right back at him.

He clicked out of his phone gallery. No more mistakes. No more hiding. He ran away once, and regretted it. He wasn't repeating that mistake again. He looked fondly at the picture one last time before he tucked it away, starting the gears in his car.

Tim was finally going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the first chapter's finally up! 
> 
> Please don't be too mad at Tim for saying those mean things to Dami, he didn't really mean it and they both knew that. And Dami really did do something stupid and they should have handled it better but, teen angst am I right?
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please do leave a kudos or a nice comment down below, that would really make my day! Come scream at me about how much you love Damian and Tim and Batfam in general below, so I can scream right back at you!! The 2nd chapter might be up soon, and it's...Damian's pov!!! Can't wait to share it with you all! Thank you for reading!


	2. A Liar And A Cheat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Damian Wayne takes some time before the party starts for a little self-reflection, and a very wise Alfred Pennyworth provides what he desperately needs to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning for:
> 
> -mentioned anxiety & panic attacks
> 
> This time around, it's *TADAA* the long-awaited debut of Damian's POV!!! I struggled a lot with writing this chapter, and I tried my best to keep him in character. Really, really sorry if I made any mistakes, but yeah please do enjoy this chapter update!
> 
> Hit me up in the comments and leave a kudos if you like the story!

In this current day and age, most people were inclined to celebrate their 18th birthday with anticipated enthusiasm and almost certain joy.

Then again, most people also maintained a proper sitting posture.

Damian al-Ghul Wayne was with all his conscious intents and purposes however, decidedly _unlike_ most people.

Hunched over in his faux leather chair, he absentmindedly circled his blue fountain pen, the silver-crested nib scraping the glass bottom of the ink bottle as he stared daggers at the half-written letter in front of him.

Nursing a slowly cooling whiskey glass, he took a gingered sip before setting it down again, wincing. Alcohol might be the devil’s nectar, but honeyed and sweet it is not. How his various family members (Jason namely being the worst offender by far) downed this every other week like it was just plain water was beyond his comprehension.

But the inner workings of lesser-minded beings mattered not to the current looming task at hand; submitting an in-depth report of his deepest apologies and regret for chasing away a certain Timothy Drake from the manor, his own found family and...from him.

Drake had very pointedly avoided him for a whole three years, and Damian was determined not to let that pattern continue. Not if he could help it.

Of course, it had complicated things when nearly every night shift and mission had to be reshuffled because of their silent warfare. And leaving the organizing of the family’s social and public events to Dick at the helm had been rather...amusing, to say the least. (Father would disagree.) Damian could also really do without having his family and teammates’ pitying glances on him every single time this happened.

But beyond their work, family and personal issues, Drake belonged here, with them. Not because he worked hard for it, although he certainly tried to. But because he simply...did.

This team, this family, this city needed him back.

There was one last reason that Drake should, no _needed,_ to come back, although Damian doubted mentioning it at all here would compel the former to return home. It was a rather selfish one, he was old enough at least to realize that. 

Didn’t stop him from writing it down anyway. 

Lying to himself and everyone around him wasn’t going to work out forever. If this continued, Ti—no, Drake would have his way and they’d never see each other again. That simply would not do. Damian can’t, won’t allow it to happen.

Not...that he was doing a great job at it, though. He had made his mind up long ago to make his intentions known this year, but writing intimate letters that conveyed his raw emotions as accurately as possible was starting to prove unexpectedly difficult. Hmm, perhaps he should have inquired mother on how to write eloquently on these matters. 

He scoffed to himself. 

As if she knew any better than him in the ways capturing and keeping a man’s heart. Ah, at least his humour was improving. He smiled wanly. Dick would be _so_ proud.

"...have missed your presence profoundly," he started again, before firmly crossing it out.

Too Darcy-esque, even for him. Drake had said as much before, once pointing out that his speech pattern was that of "...an elderly man stuck in the 1800s, with the accent and airs of a young, cocky American mobster loaded with a full-barreled Smith & Wesson and an even heftier bank account," swiftly following one of their many past disagreements.

An oddly...specific observation coming from Drake, to be fair, but he couldn’t really confirm nor deny it himself. (And quite frankly, he’d rather walk barefoot for a week across the desert back to his grandfather than get a dreaded confirmation from his teammates, or worse... _his brothers_.) He tutted to himself. Some things were better left unknown.

No, Drake had always been one of the more observant ones. Even more than Cass and Alfred combined at times, he mused. Where Cass (and even himself from time to time) fell short with discerning behavioral patterns in modern social settings, Drake would usually fill in the gaps for them.

It was to be expected that he would pick up on his own teammates' quirks. Even more so to call them out on it directly. And he's never known Drake to tell an outright lie, except that one time. Which just so happened to be the time they argued in the Batcave.

The last time they met face to face.

He had known of course, that he had pushed Drake too far that day. As everyone very helpfully pointed out after the fact, it was his own fault for going in head-first into the trap Drake had laid out carefully for their target, setting it off early and nearly stabbing himself into an early grave in the process.

Damian had actually meant to apologize back then, to explain that he merely wanted to check that the coast was clear for both of them but Drake had snapped so harshly that he got unexpectedly heated as well. Was he proud of how he handled the situation? No. But he had his reasons too.

What he did that day was only ever meant to protect his beloved from harm's way, it was never intended to undermine Drake's capabilities as a planner and a fellow hero. Or at least, that’s what he’d thought.

Mere intentions however, well-meant or otherwise, weren't enough to keep Drake safe or happy. His actions had only proved that he didn't trust Drake enough to protect himself, he realized much later. And Drake, being the sharp and observant person that he is, had got the message loud and clear. How could he even deny or defend himself then; Drake had every right to get angry at him.

Damian had thought it was obvious before; his job was to be a hero, to protect others at any and all costs. It only took losing Drake to realize that was the same for him as well. Drake wasn't necessarily the best or most skilled fighter among them per se, but considering how late he began his physical training, he'd held his own pretty well against both his own teammates and out on the field. And he was by far the best at programming and analyzing down to the tiniest detail of every mission and case.

Truthfully, it was that very level-headed determination and sheer hard work that made it so easy to fall for him. (That, and those dead, calculating blue eyes. Or was it the eyebags? Both, probably both.)

It was almost a sort of personal pride for Drake, to always keep himself well-informed and most importantly, be in complete control of a dire situation. For Damian to ignore his carefully laid-out plans, step in front of him and get even himself hurt? It must have struck a raw nerve in him.

Having Dick of all people explain that to Damian in the hospital was a little on the nose, but after some long nights to himself where he could self-reflect in peace, he finally understood. And he’d waited patiently for Drake to calm down and come home, so that they could finally talk and he could apologize in person.

But he never did come back. Not once, these three years.

Well, Damian was done waiting. He had to do something, he had to—

KNOCK, KNOCK!

“Master Damian, are you decent?” Alfred inquired through his bedroom door.

Damian, recognizing his voice, recollected himself and what was left of his dignity off the floor (He will never admit to anyone that he just got jumpscared out of his skin by his own butler; they’d never let him live it down. Never.) and responded in his best impression of a deadpan voice:

“Who, me?”

The brass handle on his door clicked open and Alfred strode in, one grey-flecked eyebrow raised amusedly.

“A Gilda reference right out the gate, sir? Color me impressed. Why,” his butler’s observant eyes glanced once over at his half empty whiskey glass and muttered, “the young master certainly is full of surprises today…”

“Surely you aren’t going to lecture me on my alcohol consumption now, are you Pennyworth?” Damian said half-jokingly.

“Far from it. In fact, it rather pleases me to see you in high spirits for your birthday. A celebratory mood is necessary in times like this, and assuming you know how to carry yourself and drink responsibly, I see no need to reprimand you for it. And as I recall,” Alfred smiled warmly at him,”...you are already old enough to drink today.”

Damian returned a small, appreciative smile back to him; Alfred was always such an MPV. Or was it MVP? MTV? He couldn’t remember. But whatever Jon said, definitely that.

“It’s a pity that I do not enjoy the taste then,” he replied, as he hazarded another sip from it. Vile.

“And might I inquire as to why you continue to drink it with such distaste? I presume it has something to do with that letter you’re writing?”

Damian averted his eyes.

“Dutch courage, perhaps?” Alfred pressed a little further. Damn, the old man was sharp.

“I’m not...afraid, Pennyworth.” The reply came softly.

“I don’t doubt it, young master. You are one of the bravest young men I know.”

“It’s just…” Damian struggled to get the words out, “I have to make things right. My own pride caused this and everything’s...just wrong.”

_This is my fault. I did this._

“I need to fix things, but I don’t know how...”

_Coward, Coward, Coward._

“I don’t know if they’ll let me but I have to try, or else—”

_Or else, he’ll leave you like mother did._

A gloved hand gripped his left shoulder lightly.

“It’s alright, master Damian. I’m right here. Focus on my voice; Breathe,” Alfred spoke gently.

But all Damian could think of was the pained look Tim had given him back when he first got handpicked by Dick to be Robin, and how much, how _long_ he’d gloated and waved this achievement over his head.

_Cheat. Half-rate. Undeserving._

He’d been nothing but a pain and a thorn in Tim’s side ever since they were barely teens, yet he still dared to long to be by his side? How could he, how could he? Tim was right. He didn’t deserve the robin mantle. He didn’t deserve Tim. He didn’t deserve any of it, he didn't even deserve to call him by his first name, he didn’t—

“Hush child, it’s alright now,” Damian opened his eyes; Alfred was combing through his hair and brushing it back softly, over and over to a steady rhythm. It was so oddly comforting, and he basked silently for a while in this manner.

It was...nice, to still be treated like a small child in Alfred's presence privately after all this while, although Damian would never admit this out loud. To allow himself to be vulnerable, emotionally and physically to people was always something he'd had to consciously work towards his whole life...But Alfred just _knew_. Maybe it was his experience dealing with his father. Maybe they were similar after all.

It didn't matter at this point.

All Damian knew was that Alfred was his safe space. Somewhere, _someone_ he could go to and trust that he wouldn't be judged, coddled or pried into, but be met halfway every time. The closest thing he could relate to being an actual family. The grandfather he never had.

"Thank you, Pennyworth," Damian eventually broke the silence. The voices had ceased. He genuinely hoped the gratitude he felt came through in his voice; he still wasn't very good at this.

Alfred just nodded and continued to brush his hair. “Don’t mention it, young master. I am only able to do this much, but if it allows this old man to ease the pain in your heart, even a little...well, it is my humble pleasure to do so.”

“I’m sorry, you’ve probably been sent up here to get me haven’t you?” Damian began to stir out of his chair.

“Are you feeling better, sir? The guests can wait a few more minutes, I’m sure--” Alfred still sounded concerned.

“I’m alright, just…” Damian looked conflicted at the letter he held in his hand, hesitated before folding it over neatly and left it on his desk.

“Master Damian?”

“It’s fine, Pennyworth,” Damian shook his head and gave a weak smile. _He won’t be coming back anyway_ , he thought.

“Father hates it when I keep the guests waiting anyways, I’ll head down now-” He reached out to take the whiskey glass down with him, but Alfred took it away and held on to it.

“You go on ahead and run along first, I’ll bring this to the kitchen.” Alfred explained. “I may be a bit more lenient when it comes to these things, but I can’t guarantee the same for master Bruce. At the very least, he probably wouldn’t appreciate the notion of you drinking right under his nose before meeting the guests,” he added.

 _As if he’d even notice_ , Damian thought wryly.

But instead, he gave his thanks and right before he headed out the door, Alfred spoke one last time:

“In time, everything will work out, master Damian. It always does. You just have to let it.”

As Damian reached the foot of the staircase, Alfred’s kind words rang over and over in his head. It sounded too good to be true. Maybe it was too naive of him to hope—

“SURPRISE!!!” A chipper voice suddenly yelled in his ear, while two strong hands hugged him from the back and nearly lifted him off the floor.

Normally, Damian would have immediately thrown the assailant over his shoulder and tackled him to the ground till he surrendered, but when your best friend literally has super strength and can fly with his eyes closed...there wasn’t much he could do. And he’d tried. Plenty of times.

He gave a half-hearted tug at those hands. “Congratulations. You got me. Now let go, Jon.”

Laughing, Jon replied, “Hhaha, don’t wanna!” and snuggled his head even more aggressively next to Damian’s cheek like an overgrown puppy while his legs remained suspended comfortably in the air. 

Damian gave up and tried to take another step down, but ended up stumbling and clinging desperately to the rails for dear life while his personal torturer giggled up a storm. He struggled to break out of Jon’s clutches when he sensed another presence watching them. Shit, maybe it was Superman and he was about to blast a hole into his skull for manhandling his son.

Damian looked up, and...straight into Tim’s widened grey-blue eyes.

His pale red lips, slightly agape but then quickly pressed into a thin line.

His gloved hand that just let go of the shoe he was taking off.

The shoe hit the floor with a dull thud, rolled to a stop and suddenly it came crashing down on Damian like a five-ton truck:

Tim was home.

Tim was right in front of him.

  
  


Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is literally the grandpapa we all deserve and yes, this was absolutely me self-indulgently channeling my own experiences with my late grandpa into this chapter. Also, Damian just deserves to be pampered! And comforted! More often, and I feel that Alfred is very experienced dealing with these kinda things, you feel?
> 
> Also...peep @ how Dami goes from calling him Drake in his head before giving in and calling him Tim instead? Grrr, he just misses Timmy a lot but there's a part of him that still feels guilty about feeling that way. Silly boy.
> 
> If anyone's wondering about the Gilda reference, it's from this clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gWaQxLcTDIs  
> Damian feels like the type to enjoy film noirs in his free time!
> 
> This chapter isn't really that eventful, but next chapter we're finally gonna get some present day! TimDami interactions so stay tuned for that!
> 
> If you enjoyed the 2nd chapter, please do leave a kudos or a nice comment about it down below, that would really make my day! Come scream at me in the comments about how much you love Damian and Tim and Batfam in general! Thank you for reading!


	3. Bursting Into Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming has never been this awkward in the history of never-fucking-EVER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out later than I expected but it's here!! We're back to Tim's POV, and we're finally getting some TimDami present-day interactions! *clapclapclap* But at what cost...
> 
> As always, I do apologize if I made any mistakes, but without further ado please do enjoy this chapter update!
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a nice comment if you like the story!

Blink, blink. _Stare_.

Two pairs of eyes scrutinized Tim’s unexpected presence in their midst; one bright blue and bug-eyed, the other green and very, _very_ much unreadable.

Meanwhile, his awkwardly exposed left foot began to feel a slight chill from the absence of the shoe he’d removed to shake out a stray pebble. Shit. This wasn't according to plan.

It wasn't that he didn't have a plan; he did. Which just so happened to involve sneaking in quietly into the manor without being spotted, planting the cake anonymously on the kitchen counter before dipping out of there. After all, no one ever used the main entrance anymore, except for guests. It was a perfectly formulated plan, and he'd almost succeeded...before being spotted by the two.

Tim groaned inwardly. He knew he'd probably have to face Damian at some point during the evening but to literally be caught right at the doorstep? Less than two minutes of arriving in the Wayne manor? That had to be some kind of ironic fate, right?

As his mind began to race for some plausible excuse to make up for being here, he accidentally let go of the shoe he held in his hand; it now lay unceremoniously on the floor like a dead rat besides the empty coat rack.

Currently, he’d like nothing better than to switch spots with it.

"You're..here," Damian finally spoke, a tinge of disbelief momentarily flashing across his face. Still, he kept his tone mostly level.

And much _deeper_ than what Tim remembered, his tiresome brain quite happily took note.

Tim blanked for a moment.

“Well?” Damian met his unfocused gaze with a raised and perfectly plucked dark brow as he waited for a-

 _A response! Right, right,_ his brain finally kicked in to remind him.

"The...The door was unlocked, so um," Tim blurted out stupidly instead.

Ahhhh, could the ground swallow him up already?

"Oh, yeah! My bad, must have forgotten to close it," A sheepish Jon chirped in, "I just got so caught up trying to surprise Dami and uhh—" His voice trailed off as he realized he was still dangling poor Damian off the ground, and he slowly untangled his arms from the shorter's neck.

Tim felt a sinking feeling beginning to form in the pit of his stomach as he observed them; he wasn't necessarily surprised but he'd heard the hushed whispers going around before.

The Supersons; the walking, talking embodiment of the future generation of superheroes. The perfect two-man team expected to rival, and hopefully surpass their paternal predecessors. It wouldn't be a stretch to call them a literal legacy of sorts, in fact. 

Hmm, so maybe the rumours were true after all. 

By the way they acted so naturally and comfortably around each other, it only made sense. Of course it did.

The small brown paper bag he held in his hands felt alien to him now. _I shouldn't be here, I don't belong-No,_ Tim chastised himself. Hadn't he already promised himself not to think like that? This wasn't about him. _Just focus._ He absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, chasing away the ghost feeling of the discomfort he felt.

"So, um Tim," Jon cheerfully tried to fill in the silence, after setting Damian down, "Did you come here alone? Isn't Conner with you?" The teen’s curious eyes scanned the area behind Tim, as if he was expecting his big brother to pop out behind his back somehow.

Out of the corner of his own eye, he noticed Damian tightening his jaw, settling it into a light frown.

"Kon?" Tim was confused. "In Gotham? Why would he follow me here?” He crossed his arms. “If anything, wouldn't he be here with you?"

"Jon, enough." Damian shot a warning look at him.

"No, no I just assumed, it doesn't-OW!" Jon suddenly yelped; Damian had poked the poor boy in the side to keep him from continuing. The two had a quick exchange of annoyed, meaningful looks at each other, but Jon finally huffed and kept quiet.

The situation couldn't get anymore awkward. 

Tim couldn't help but feel that the younger pair were insinuating or assuming _something_ (And of course, Kon’s the type to tell his little brother everything...Why isn’t he surprised.) but he really didn't want this to be the first topic of discussion mere minutes upon arriving at his old foster home.

Before he could think of something else to change the subject, Damian spoke up again.

"Why are you here." A statement, not a question. 

How very like him.

Still, Tim couldn't help but bristle a little bit at the clipped tone. Alright, fine. He could admit he wasn't welcome here, especially on such an occasion but one couldn't help but hope just a little, that he would be missed by the younger brat after being gone for three years. So much for wishful thinking.

"Don't worry, I won't stay for long," He tried at first for a reassuring tone; Damian just frowned deeper at that. Ah, well. He must really want Tim out of the house as quickly as possible.

"You're not answering the question, Drake."

 _And_ he's even gone back to calling Tim by his last name during their first year of meeting as bitter rivals. Lovely. Damian might as well stab him in the heart right now with a blunt fork, it would hurt less.

Sighing, he held up the small brown paper bag, shaking it slightly in surrender and said, "I just, I brought something over alright? That’s all. For Dick and Alfred's sake, I'll stay for just the first half of the party then I promise, I'll be out of your hair for good-"

Oh no. He did _not_ look happy.

Tim's sentence cut off mid-way as Damian suddenly stepped forward, grabbing his collar with both angry fists, as he brought Tim down closer to his height. The older one gasped and stumbled as he tried to regain his balance.

"For Dick and Alfre-?! -Tt- Don't fucking bring them into this, Drake. If you didn't want to be here then GET OUT, you, you-" Damian growled in his face, voice shaking with a silent fury.

Taken aback at first, Tim then drew himself to his full height and looked Damian defiantly in the eyes, refusing to back down. _Hah, at least I still have an inch or two over him_ , Tim absent-mindedly thought. Jon had disappeared somewhere along the line, but Tim could only focus on one lethal brat at a time.

"Don't get me wrong. I was the one-” he tapped his finger on Damian’s chest here for emphasis, “-who made the decision to come back on my own terms; you should know better than anyone else that I can't be forced to do something I don't want to."

"Then what do you want."

Again, it was just a statement but this time the implications in his tone were so sudden, so searching and way too intimate than Tim was ready to anticipate that he swore he was suffering from emotional whiplash.

To avoid answering, he looked down, trying to focus his energy on prying open Damian's fists but unfortunately that only resulted in him getting pushed back against the wooden main entrance door by the latter. Now utterly trapped, Tim squirmed as he silently cursed Damian's stupidly strong biceps. The not-so-lil brat had clearly been working out again while he was gone. 

Life really wasn't fair. Tsk.

"Why aren't you answering me?" Damian kept his voice low this time, but there was an unexpected hint of ache and sorrow laced into it that Tim had no idea what to make of it.

And didn’t dare to.

Instead he turned his face away, they were way too close, it was too much- Damian was always too much. Past memories and something else he’d buried were beginning to bubble back to the surface and he struggled to keep them in check, simultaneously pressing his eyelids and unwanted feelings shut. As he always did.

“...You can’t even look at me now.” Damian's sad tone came out slightly choked, resigned and...wait-

Sad? Damian is.. _.sad???_

Tim’s eyes flew open as he dared himself to look properly at the face of the young man that held him for the first time in three years. His dark, handsome face, normally so proud and confident, was now clouded over, wearing a conflicted expression.

_Did he always have such dark circles under his eyes before?_

The hurt was so visibly etched into his brows that Tim, without thinking, couldn’t help but hold up a gloved hand gingerly to the side of Damian's temple to sooth him.

Damian flinched at the touch, a little wary at first but ultimately didn’t move away. Might have even leaned into his hand a little, or maybe Tim was genuinely starting to go crazy. Time always seemed to slow down when they were in close proximity like this.

While waiting patiently for Tim to say something, Damian’s emerald, cat-like eyes peered into Tim’s gray-blue ones. As if they were searching for an answer that Tim wasn’t even sure he had.

“I’m looking at you now, aren’t I? Brat,” Tim finally huffed, stubbornly deciding to play dumb.

Ahh damn it, he could already feel his cheeks heating up from being examined so closely. _Does everyone in the Wayne family have no concept of personal space?_ Tim’s poor heart lamented.

“Tt.You know that wasn’t what I asked.”

A hint of Damian's familiar signature smirk barely registered on his face. Neither seemed able to back down from this impromptu staring match. It wasn't like there were any stakes if either lost, or were there? The familiar hum of old rivalry and something else stirred in Tim. He didn't want to lose. _Yeah, that must be it,_ he decided.

And was it just him, or was Damian’s pulse actually _racing_ beneath his fingers? Tim struggled to focus.

Seriously, _why_ was he here?

As Tim desperately raked his bird brain for a logical answer that could be considered satisfactory without spoiling the birthday surprise, he barely had time to react when Damian suddenly tiptoed forward and placed a light kiss on his lips, before pulling away just as quickly to gauge his reaction.

At least, that’s what it should have felt like.

His lips and for some reason, his ears were burning so hot that the whole house might as well have heard them pop. The warmth blooming in his chest was spreading all the way to the tips of his toes and fingers, sending a shiver down his spine. And worst of all, he could literally hear the sound of his brain shutting down for the third time that evening.

Tim wasn’t sure what kind of ridiculous facial expression he was making, but right now he couldn’t be bothered to care. No, he was way too dumbfounded by how swiftly Damian had put on his best impression of an innocent poker face. Save for the compromising position they were in, anyone else looking in would be forgiven for thinking he was just casually observing the weather. He was gonna kill this brat-- 

Tim's brain was reeling, quickly going into overdrive. This wouldn’t do. This? This wasn’t according to plan either??? How was he even supposed to respond? Damn him, damn it all. No way is he letting Damian throw him off balance like that.

“You-!! Y-you have...shit taste in alcohol!” Tim spluttered out the first thing that came to mind.

Damian actually had the audacity to snort at that.

“That’s what you have a problem with?”

"And! You shouldn't even be drinking, you're barely 18 and the legal age for that is 21!" Tim complained further, to Damian's amusement. He wasn't going to bring up the kiss on pain of death, no fucking way is he giving Damian that satisfaction. Just remain calm--

"Hmm." A small smile began to form on Damian's face. "Tell that to Pennyworth."

"Urghh! You are literally the most _annoying_ brat I know, you know that?" Tim didn't even realize that he was pouting, he was so utterly frustrated.

"Yeah, I know." The smile grew.

Grabbing the hand Tim had left frozen next to his face, Damian suddenly pressed his lips gently against Tim’s open palm while his eyes never strayed for a second from the former’s face.

Tim felt like his heart and his legs were about to give out. This time, the cheeky brat didn’t even bother to hide his shit-eating smirk, clearly gloating about something.

“S-stop..Stop that! Why would you-?” Tim’s embarrassed blush deepened further as Damian kissed his first finger.

Damian just tutted matter-of-factly, as if he was talking to a misbehaving toddler. “You were taking too long.” _Kiss._ “Aren’t you-” _Kiss._ “-supposed to-” _Kiss._ “-be the smarter one between us, Drake?”

 _You tell me,_ Damian’s unfazed look challenged him.

_Tippity-Tappity-Tippity-Tappity-_

Before Tim could give him another earful, Damian suddenly released his hold on Tim and swiftly stepped back a mere second or two before a large black dog bounded over, knocking Tim off his feet while barking excitedly at his return.

“Titus?” Tim couldn’t believe his eyes.

The Great Dane, now more than half his size, licked his cheek and panted happily in affirmation. Damian looked fondly at the two, but made no effort to help him up, choosing instead to snicker off to the side.

Tim chuckled as he let Titus crush his windpipes. “Ahahha, aww good boy! Good boy!” He ruffled and patted the top of the dog's head. Gosh, he's missed this.

_BORK!!!_

He would probably have been content to just lie there, playing with the giant dog but said dog was now solely interested in the bag he held in his hands. _Oh right, the cake._ Tim stood up immediately.

“No, no, no, this isn’t for you,” he pretended to scold Titus. Not that the dog was listening.

“Then is it for me?” An all too familiar feminine voice teased him. Tim didn't even need to look up to confirm who he thought it was.

“Steph?”

She stood by the doorway, holding a mug of coffee with her blonde hair in a low ponytail, grinning at him.

“The one and only. Fancy seeing you here,” she gestured with her mug in his general direction.

“Could say the same to you, but-” Tim began, but stopped when Damian suddenly turned away quietly and left, Titus trailing after his owner.

Stephanie was puzzled, watching his brooding back disappear down the hallway. “What’s up with him?”

 _The hell if I know,_ Tim wanted to say. Instead, he just shrugged his shoulders and tried to put on a reassuring smile.

She shook her head in sympathy. “It’s fine. Give him time, he’s warmed up to you before; It’ll probably happen again soon, you know?”

Tim just grimaced at that.

 _You have no idea,_ he thought, recalling what had happened mere minutes ago. Were his cheeks still flushed? Oh god. He shook his head; he didn’t have time to analyze Damian’s odd behavior right now. Focus, he needed to focus. Put cake. In fridge. That's all he needed to do.

Just then, Jon finally reappeared, this time with Dick behind him. Both of them looked around, noting Damian’s absence.

“Where’s Dami?” Jon looked mildly accusatory at Tim. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything,” Tim clarified, caught off-guard by the sudden animosity aimed towards him. The superteen didn't look satisfied by this answer.

“Maybe that’s the problem, have you ever thought about that?”

Without waiting for Tim’s response, Jon walked away in search of his best friend, leaving the three of them speechless in the hallway.

After a beat, Dick finally spoke up.

  
  
  


“So uhh...Welcome home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all didn't cringe at least once during the initial interactions at the beginning of this chapter, I haven't done my job right :D
> 
> Damian is 100% the type of person that just goes for it, doesn't he? Has he no pity for Tim's poor nerves---
> 
> Still, he's a soff baby boy when he does it, and I refuse to hear otherwise. Dami=Tender Kithes Rights!!!
> 
> I actually planned this chapter to be a whole lot more angstier and messy but I just couldn't bring myself to do it, I'm so sorry. However, as you can still see, they're both not very good at communicating how they feel to one another. One just deflects while the other just peaces out when they feel uncomfortable and vice versa. And bratty Damian finally shows up here!
> 
> Call them out, Jon!! (Side note, is anyone interested for me to write a JonDami fic in the future? I'm curious.)
> 
> Also, Steph and Dick have finally made an irl appearance! Unfortunately I don't really know Steph's character/personality beyond the basics...I apologize if I didn't do her justice.
> 
> This chapter really just took place in the hallway the whole time whoops, but next chapter we're finally gonna get to the damn BIRTHDAY PARTY celebrations so stay tuned for that! Leave a comment below on who you think would be invited to such an event, I may add them in as a cameo!
> 
> You know the drill: If you got doki-doki while reading the 3rd chapter, please do leave a kudos or a nice comment about it down below, that would really make my day! Come scream at me about how much you love Damian and Tim and Batfam down below! Thank you for reading!


	4. Tell All My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is comforted by two close friends with very fluffy hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAH!!! Idk what to say, 101 kudos?!! Do not deserve,,, thank you so much for the support!!
> 
> Very sorry for the long hiatus, just for that I'm uploading a giant chapter in two parts! Make sure to read both!
> 
> If you enjoyed it pls leave a nice comment & a kudos, that motivates me so, so much! Love you all!

_This is fine, this is fine._

Damian calmly strode down the velveted hallway, his shoes barely making a sound as they tread on the expensive purple carpet. Although his shoulders drooped ever so slightly, he tried to keep his head from doing the same; after all, he had made the right decision.

Hadn't he?

He had removed himself from being in a potentially uncomfortable interaction and prevented any possibility of ruining things between them. That's what Dick had always told him to do, right?

_Read the situation and try to be more considerate._

Yeah, he could do that.

Tim and Stephanie hadn't seen each other in a long time and they didn't exactly end on good terms. He still remembered how long it took for Tim to even function again after she left. How listless and broken he had been. 

They'd probably want to talk.

Probably needed to. Giving them space was the right call. He didn't belong in that conversation.

Or maybe, he simply didn't want to hear it.

_Fuck._

Damian chewed down painfully on his bottom lip, displeased by the unwanted appearance of his own juvenile insecurities. There was no need to entertain such unnecessary emotions, yet they weighed down on him till his walking slowed, and finally stopped.

The way Tim had reacted earlier had filled his heart with hope, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt like a massive idiot. It wasn't like him, to be so impulsive and reckless. What if he'd just gone and ruined things for good? Sure, mother had said that it was better to be passionate; to aim open and sure for his heart's desires, but he doubted even she would act so impulsively without a single backup game plan.

If his mere existence wasn't already proof enough.

Still, his traitorous heart thumped heavy against his chest, speeding up whenever his mind recalled what happened. Lips so cold from the late evening chill, yet he swore Tim's fingers felt like fire intertwined between his. In that short moment, any question, any doubt he'd had slipped away, he was so sure that—

—That, nothing, Damian shook his head, dismissing the tragically naive thought from his head.

God knows he's misread Tim plenty of times before, what would make this time any different? Especially after all these years, he wasn't sure if Tim had changed. 

Or if he'd even been on his mind the same way Tim had been on his.

Did Tim think likewise when he saw him too? Could it be even the slightest bit possible? Perhaps, but then why all the avoidance? Why the radio silence all these years? And why now?

Why was he back...now?

He paced back and forth distractedly, sighing while Titus looked up at his distressed master, mild curiosity filling its shiny black pupils. The Great Dane nudged at his feet, perhaps trying in its own bumbling way to comfort its human.

Damian finally crouched down on one knee, and scratched his dog affectionately behind its velvety black ears, mumbling half aloud, "I don't know what I'm doing here, buddy."

"Neither do I, mopey face," a voice behind him interjected.

He didn't really have to look, but by the sound of his voice, Jon's hands were probably crossed.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on, Jon. I'm just-" Damian gestured vaguely at Titus, who licked his hand.

"Right." Jon rolled his eyes. "That's why your heart rate is increasing, you can't maintain eye contact and your Tim has a scarlet blush that might as well be wrapped around his neck as a choker because that's how red he looks. Because nothing happened."

Damned meta.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice? Do I look like an idiot — No, actually wait, don't answer that."

Damian simply shrugged. He didn't mind Jon knowing. "You're my best friend, I knew you'd figure things out easily anyway."

He settled his back against the wall, and stretched out his legs, sighing. Titus took it as a sign to climb onto his lap, and Damian let out an amused huff as he patted the giant dog's head.

"Look at you, you're too big for this now, aren't you boy?" Damian looked a little sad as he continued to stroke his dog's fluffy head. Titus merely gave a contented whine and licked his hand again. 

Jon sat down too, crossing his legs as he floated down to the rug floor.

"I didn't mean to pry, you know," Jon began.

"I know."

"I just...I don't want to see you hurt again, Dami. You don't show it to anyone, not to Dick, not to Cass, or your dad and definitely not to me." Jon's voice betrayed a little trace of hurt.

Damian's head jerked up then, an awkward apology already forming on his lips and his eyes ever so slightly widened with worry about any potential misunderstandings, but his friend just shook his head.

"It's not something you have to apologise for," his friend quickly reassured him. 

"Most of us know you well enough by now; you're a private person, and you care more than you'd like to admit about others. You not sharing certain things is at least partly because you don't want to worry us. And it's okay to keep personal affairs separate from...from whatever it is that we do." 

Damian relaxed a little at that.

"Still, we care about you too, you know? And others might be fooled by how little your attitude has changed beyond you mellowing out over the years, I guess. But I—," Jon looked at the carpet, picking at it aimlessly as he continued, "I can see everything, Dami."

"You don't give anything away, not a single shred of it but I see it, how your pulse accelerates when he's mentioned, the sound of your breath catching when a picture of him pops up on the screen during a mission briefing, even your brain lights up at..." the young super paused, before muttering under his breath, "It's like I never even stood—" He sighed.

"Well, nevermind."

Frowning, Damian said, "I didn't catch that last part."

Jon just smiled. "It's nothing. What I'm trying to say is, Dami, you are actually hurting, and I can see it firsthand. I just wanna help you."

Damian stopped stroking Titus's head as he looked directly at Jon.

"It's not exactly something you can fix," Damian said bluntly.

"I didn't say that, I don't know what exactly happened between both of you, and although I do have my guesses, I'm aware that it's none of my business to meddle in it."

"So then..." Damian still felt confused.

"So _then_ , Dami, I want to help _you_. Not by fixing your problem, but by being here for you. By being your friend. What I'm saying, dumbass," Jon looked a little embarrassed as he spoke, "...Is that you can rely on me, t-too. Okay?"

Damian felt as if he had just been handed a warm, fuzzy blanket, and a strange urge to cry bubbled up in his throat. Instead, he softly kicked, tapped, really, his best friend's knee with his closest leg.

"G-got it."

Jon visibly brightened up. "Yeah?"

"Tt," Damian kicked Jon a little harder this time. "I'm not repeating it a second time, so stop grinning like that."

Jon made a big show of rubbing his knee, before leaping up and yanking Damian to his feet. Poor Titus was not ready for the sudden absence of his master's comfortable legs, scrambling noisily off onto the floor before he began pawing the carpet in indignant protest.

"Oh, shush buddy." Jon tried to pacify the dog. "We have a birthday party to attend, you know? Up, both of you—" At this, he bear-hugged Damian from behind and began flying casually towards the grand living room, Titus now gladly panting away as he padded behind the floating pair.

Damian swiped uselessly against his friend's iron grip, locked firmly under his arms, and complained, "Jon, I'm losing blood circulation in my upper limbs in 30 seconds, put me down; I look stupid."

"No, you look cute, like a washed-out cat, see?"

Damian caught a glimpse of himself in the window's reflection as they whizzed by.

"Yes, a washed-out cat that looks stupid, so put me down," he grumbled.

"I will, once we get to the hall. Please," Jon's voice wavered as they took a sharp left, and his arms tightened as he said, "Let me have this one last time, Damian, okay?"

Damian couldn't fully understand it, but he could still sense the importance of it to Jon, so he finally relented, hoping no one would catch them in such an embarrassing position. A vague image of the Titanic came to mind, although he doubted the main characters could actually fly like they said in the movie. He didn't remember Rose dangling from Jack's hands till her face turned purple. But fiction was just that; Fiction. He trusted his friend more than some fictional Rose did for her Jack. So he said it out loud:

"Okay, I trust you."

Jon seemed to startle, then simply buried his nose into his friend's neck as they slowly reached the large doorway. They floated back down to the floor, but Jon still hung on, sighing.

"Dami? I—"

Suddenly, Titus bounded up, interrupting Jon mid-sentence. Jon let go in surprise, before laughing to himself.

Damian was confused. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, well," Jon seemed to think for a bit. "I was just gonna say, I think you're getting a lot heavier, that's all," he finally said, massaging his left shoulder while pretending to wince.

"Yes, I have been following father's new training routine on top of Pennyworth's diet plan very carefully this past month," Damian nodded curtly. "The weight gain must also be a natural result of that," he added, sounding a little proud of himself, for his best friend to acknowledge his hard work was very fulfilling to hear.

"Oh, but if it really hurts, I can request Pennyworth to—" but Jon just shoved Damian towards the main door, saying, "It's not that bad, c'mon! We're gonna be late to your party, musclebrains."

He sighed deeply.

There was no escaping this, so he pushed the looming giant wooden doors and watched gloomily as they swung open, resigning himself to his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're near the end, go go go!!
> 
> Remember to scream in the comments below!
> 
> It's party time!


	5. This, This Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Party Time at the Wayne's, so you BET something's going down before the night is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left,,,oh how bittersweet.
> 
> Please enjoy part 2 of this giant chapter, I think i made the right call to split it into two!!
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please do leave a cute message and kudos down below, and remember, i wuvv you!!

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LITTLE ONE-!!"

Aquaman's deep voice boomed as he picked Damian up and hugged him the moment he opened the door, before setting him down just as quickly and walking out of the main hall.

And just like that, Damian found himself finally stepping (?) into his own birthday party. The celebration was in full swing, and lavish drinks and food were flowing freely. The large room was decorated tastefully (by Pennyworth, no doubt) and as he entered, he did a sweeping glance over the large group of party attendees.

Most were established heroes of some kind, and a few of his father's trustworthy acquaintances, all dressed in civilian formal party attire and chit-chatting animatedly in different corners of the large room. Some looked up and nodded briefly; others that he's met personally, like the Teen Titans, waved and beamed excitedly at him. As for father, he was in the middle of a hushed conversation with some people Damian had no recollection of meeting, and as usual, he hadn't even noticed his own son's arrival. Damian wanted nothing more than to slink back into the comforting shadows of the dark and empty hallway outside, but Jon kept pushing him forward, chastising, "You can't escape your own birthday party, Dami. Just talk to your friends, okay?"

Friends?

He didn't have any other friends except for Jon (and maybe Cass, but she's more like family), but before he could say anything, the traitor had already abandoned his side and begun chatting up Wonder Woman and Mr.Kent next to the mantelpiece.

Left to his own devices, Damian was unsure how to proceed in such a large social gathering. He found it hard to believe that all these influential people had gathered here for his sake alone. No, he wasn't exactly well-liked, not his outward civilian's persona in the public eye (‘Nothing more than a spoiled, cold brat,’ according to the Gotham Gazette), and definitely not much luck in the heroes community either. Especially since he resembled his mother so much, in more ways than some were comfortable with.

Still, most either left him alone or tolerated him. It wasn't exactly like he was _the_ pariah of the heroes league; no, that title was better suited to far worse personalities. There could be a number of reasons for them not completely outcasting him. Was it because they reluctantly respected him for his combat skills acquired at such a young age? 

Maybe.

Envied him for being Bruce Wayne's, the Batman's one and only biological son? 

Most probably.

And that was fine with him.

What strangers thought of him couldn't be lesser of a valid concern to Damian; a mere speck of dust settling on his shoulder. No, the only opinions he cared for was from family, and family alone. Which is why he couldn’t help but doubt his father's intentions for holding this elaborate party. Should he put it past Bruce Wayne to use his own son’s 18th birthday party as an easy way to spontaneously arrange a large gathering of the League and their allies without drawing unwanted attention?

Damian didn’t have the energy to find out.

The previous years had all been quiet, private affairs, usually consisting of only familiar and comforting faces and he found himself beginning to miss it. Not all of them managed to make it to his party every year, but they would always call or face-time in advance to wish him happy birthday, and the presents themselves were always on time. Mother, for example, had always sent him newly minted protection gear, and perhaps a rare weapon he'd been wanting for a while.

Once, she'd even gifted him a custom-made miniature red plushie of Goliath with metal teeth, and say what you want about Talia al-Ghul, but you couldn't say she didn't love her son in her own way.

Damian knew now that his mother was far from perfect; she was flawed and terribly twisted, and she wasn't exactly unconditional in her love for him. (Neither of his parents were, to be fair.) But she had also been his role model in his early years, and she had taught him how to survive, and how to live according to the assassin's code of honor. For that, he was grateful.

Alas, none of her teachings could apply to his current situation, at least, one that didn't involve bloodshed.

After all, Damian had been trained his whole life to be able to blend in inconspicuously and infiltrate high-profile functions such as these as a means to gather top secret information from the social elite, but next to nothing on how to actually enjoy the occasion itself. Having the attention all on him made him feel vulnerable, as there was no way to conceal his presence. 

It was...uncomfortable. Damian found himself wishing he had brought at least his dagger with him. Was it too late to run upstairs and get it—

"You're thinking about getting your dagger again, aren't you?" As if on cue, a tall figure in a navy black suit who had walked up to the snack table beside him suddenly spoke up, echoing his thoughts.

Damian reflexively elbowed Dick in his ribs, earning a "Oof!" And a, "Aww hey, I could have dropped my croissant!" out of the older man.

"Tt. Was not." And then, "Go away, go bother your orange girlfriend or whatever."

"Already have!" Dick grinned, then proceeded to blow a series of obnoxious flying kisses across the room to an unamused Kori, who replied with a well-deserved middle finger and a roll of her glowing alien-green eyes.

Damian wanted to gag.

"I just miss you, baby bat," Dick said fondly, setting aside his plate of half-eaten snacks and ruffling his little brother's spiky hair. "You, and your ridiculous amount of hairspray." (It was hair _mousse._ )

"Well, I don't miss you and you know very well that no one's allowed to use that nickname on me." Except one, but Damian doubted he'd hear it from _that_ person ever again, unless pigs started flying. But that part need not be uttered out loud.

Still, Damian did secretly miss Dick despite his surly insistence otherwise, so he allowed the older one to play with his hair for approximately 10 seconds longer than usual before he began hissing. Dick quickly let go after patting Damian's hair roughly back to its original shape, although it was now much looser, and a couple odd strands now hung down across his tanned forehead.

"Alright then. Give your big bro a hug?" Dick gleefully suggested next, although his arms were already enveloping the smaller one in a tight embrace. Damian scowled and wiggled in displeasure, but didn't actually do anything to seriously escape Dick's cuddle attack.

"Hey now, you promised no biting."

"I remember no such thing." Damian responded with a twinkle in his eyes, teeth already bared.

"Just let the damn kid bite you. It's his birthday, Dickhead," said another familiar voice, rather amusedly.

"Really, Jason?" Dick gave the newcomer a once-over. "Biker shorts? That's the best you could do for Damian's birthday party?"

"It was between this, or leather thongs."

Jason stood unabashedly next to them, clad in a red and black t-shirt, his usual rusty brown jacket, and apparently, the world's tightest leather shorts. It left nothing to the imagination, which was probably the whole point of the outfit. When would Jason ever pass up the chance to embarrass father anyway?

Dick tutted his disapproval, muttering disappointedly, "And after I emailed the dress code to you? Twice??"

"You just said, 'Casual Designer, fitted'. It's casual, it's expensive, and it fits. Close enough. Also, you're the last person I want to hear lecture me about questionable fashion choices," Jason shot back easily.

Damian didn't bother to hide his snicker, reminded once again of Dick's hideous disco, deep v-neck phase from his old Nightwing uniform, still hanging up in its glass display in the Batcave.

"Y-You—!" Dick's face paled. "It was a popular trend back then, okay? Was it really that bad?"

Jason shrugged, turning his attention away from the dramatically wounded Dick clasping at his heart, and slapped Damian fondly on his back.

"Nice outfit. You ever wear anything else besides black turtlenecks?" Jason teased, not unkindly.

"I have a white one too, so yes." Damian clarified.

"Could have fooled me."

I'm not the one who wears real leather from head to toe, Todd," Damian jabbed back.

"Ouch, I'll have you know these pants are vegan, baby!"

"Hm. I do appreciate the effort," Damian nodded approvingly; those shorts were nice. Maybe he should look them up later.

"Tsk, look at you; giving me and old Bruce a run for our money." Jason began squeezing his biceps appreciatively. "You've been working out lately, brat?"

Damian preened a little at the compliment, but ultimately maintained a poker face as he replied, "Tt. Is water wet, Todd?"

"Hah! Watch it, smartass. You're still the shortest one among all of us. Actually, hold that thought—" Jason gave a quick look around, before finding the face he was looking for. As he disappeared past a group of people gathered near the middle of the room, Damian felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut; sure enough, Jason was already making his way back through, dragging a bewildered and slightly confused Tim (apparently interrupted in the middle of a phone call) behind him.

If Damian wasn't already on edge, he would probably turn around to gauge how Dick was reacting behind him. Said person was probably mouthing an aggressively silent, "Whatthefuckjason-?!" and making a frantic "X" motion with his hands. But he didn't have time for that as Jason abruptly shoved Tim right into Damian's side.

"No, dude really... what's going on?" Tim's voice sounded wary, but mostly unamused. He glanced at his phone distractedly, before shutting it off and giving Jason a tired look. 

"Oh, just testing out my theory—" Jason was either unbothered, or extremely obtuse to Tim and Damian's mutual discomfort as he squished them shoulder to shoulder, carefully eyeing the top of their heads.

"...Yep, I was right. Sorry brat, it's pretty close, but you're officially still the shortest robin," he said, as he finally let go of them.

Damian didn't bother to answer, immediately side-stepping to the left to create a much needed gap between the two, and Tim sighed, about to do the same when Jason spoke up again:

"Aww, c'mon Timmy, you're gonna leave already? I haven't seen you in Gotham in ages," Jason said cheerfully. Damian could practically feel Dick's pressure rise; it would be almost funny if Jason's words weren't echoing exactly what Damian thought deep, deep down:

_Where have you been, all these years?_

Tim's face was still guarded, but he remained where he stood. "You weren't in Gotham yourself either, if I remember correctly. I don't see why me not being here should matter anymore than your own absence."

"Ah, touché but you see, Timmy boy," Jason replied, "The difference is that _some_ people actually miss you."

Damian stiffened. _Shut up, shut up, shut up-_

Tim didn't notice, however and scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, Jason. It's not like either of us disappeared off the face of the earth. No one's missing anybody; we're all just doing our job." He folded his arms. "It's not a big deal."

"So then tell me why Miss Birthday Boy over here has been moping around the mansion since you left, huh?" Jason challenged.

Oh, Damian _really_ wished he had his dagger right now.

"I've never seen anyone look so guilty in my life. He was practically an empty husk for months, going through the motions and fighting recklessly like he had a fucking death wish...Figured the brat must've said something that got you so spooked you just up and ran. Turns out," Jason's voice lowered mock-conspiratorially, "-the little guy does have a heart, and you broke it. Somehow." 

"Jason, _enough_." Dick's voice was stern, no humour left in it.

"What, Tim? You didn't know? Huh, and I thought you knew everything," Jason's taunts continued, ignoring Dick's warning glare.

Meanwhile, Damian just stood stock still, eyes trained on the wallpaper and hands gripped at his side. He wasn't going to show any weakness, no, not him. He wasn't going to flee either; a part of him was afraid, but another part of him was curious as to how Tim was taking in this (new?) information.

Tim paused, seemingly processing what he'd just heard. "That's, I, well..." Damian could practically hear the gears in Tim's brain whirring as he spoke carefully, "First of all, I didn't run; I genuinely had a job to carry out. And," he took a quick look at Damian before he continued, "What...Damian does is up to him. I can't say I know what's on his mind, and quite frankly I don't want, or need, to discuss this with any of you."

"Agreed," Damian finally spoke up. "It's none of your business. Back off, Todd."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "I don't appreciate that tone, brat."

"And I don't appreciate you prying like a—" Damian's voice was low, a dangerous aura affecting his tone, but Dick quickly shoved a breadstick in his mouth, preventing any possible expletives from escaping him.

"I think," Dick tried to speak calmly, as he held the breadstick in place while Damian struggled against him, "What Damian's trying to say is, he appreciates our concerns but let's just drop the issue for now and let them figure it out themselves, yeah?"

"I was just trying to get the stubborn idiots to talk, but fine, fine," Jason relented, putting up his hands in surrender, "At least I tried." He swiped a muffin from the table, then strode off, waving to his next group of unsuspecting targets.

Dick finally let go of Damian, and he immediately spat the breadstick out, before turning around to glare at his older brother.

"I didn't need your help, I can deal with Todd by myself." Damian seethed.

"Yeah, well you're welcome," Dick replied, a little hurt by the sharp tone but already used to dealing with the youngest's bursts of temper.

Just as Damian was about to give another scathing reply, Tim suddenly stepped in between them.

"Look, I'm just as frustrated at Jason as you are, but there's no need to take it out on Dick...Just," Tim took Damian's hand and squeezed it. "Take it down to a 2, I'm fine, promise."

Dick blinked, baffled, looking back and forth between them, clearly confused by Tim's gesture, almost as if he expected their hands to catch on fire.

"Sorry, could you give us a minute? I'll explain later," Tim asked Dick, mouthing another silent, "Sorry."

Dick nodded dumbly, and walked away, although he kept glancing back at them with worry. Once he was out of earshot, Tim turned back to Damian, who was now staring silently at their linked hands.

"You don't have to protect me either, Damian. I can handle myself too," Tim said quietly.

Damian nodded, "You made that very clear the last time we spoke."

"Yeah, um...about _that._ " Damian looked up and Tim's face was slightly pink.

"If you're gonna ask me to pretend that didn't happen, you can forget it," Damian said plainly. "I regret nothing."

Tim looked strangely at him, like he was trying to peer into his mind. "Wasn't...going to," he finally said. With that, he squeezed Damian's hand meaningfully again, twice this time.

Just as Damian was about to ask what that meant exactly, Tim's phone rang. They both jumped, startled, and Tim let go of Damian's hand to answer the call.

"Hello?" Damian strained his ears to catch the caller's voice, but the ambient sounds from the party drowned it out.

Tim nodded, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose before simply replying, "Leave it; I'll be there soon," and hung up.

"So that's it then? You're just gonna leave like that?" Damian didn't mean to sound so bitter, but he couldn't help it.

Tim sighed. "I'm not going anywhere, I just have to handle something urgent and I'll be back."

"Oh, don't bother to stick around on _my_ account," Damian said sarcastically.

"Hey–" Tim grabbed his wrist, getting Damian to look back at him. "I wasn't lying to Jason when I told him I have no idea what goes through your head at times, and even now, that's still true. But I'm here for you, so I _am_ sticking around whether you want me to or not, okay?" Tim's voice was earnest, and Damian couldn't detect a trace of deception in his words.

Before he could think of an appropriate reply, Tim's phone lit up again with a pop-up message notification. Damian couldn't even read it however, as Tim quickly turned it off, but not before he saw something that was equally strange.

_Was that lockscreen a picture of—_

"What was that, Drake?" Damian demanded to know immediately.

"Shit, look," Tim anxiously looked towards the door, "I promise I'll explain when I get back, well, it was always part of the plan to talk to you privately once we get the chance to but right now, I really, _really_ need to go."

"Tt. Fine." Reluctantly, Damian stepped back, and watched as the light of his life dashed towards the door before disappearing from sight.

The rest of the evening dragged on terribly slow, and by the end of the third hour, a very bored Damian had begun seriously contemplating whether stabbing his brain out with a fork would be considered self-care. He had been approached by most of the birthday guests by now, and while he gave each of them the most civil and polite answers he could muster, it was clear that he preferred to be left alone.

And so, alone and empty he sat by the windows, peering every so often into the snowed-in driveway below. It was too dark by now to see the courtyard gate from here, and alas, he wasn't sure if Tim had left the building entirely, but if he did, this was the best position to spot him. Just as Damian cursed under his breath as he caught himself yearning again, the ambient music and conversation stopped all at once as the main door flew open with a bang. His fighting instincts kicked in at once and almost out of habit, Damian flicked the butter knife in his hand directly towards one of the three figures at the door, who yelped and deflected it in time into the wooden door.

Annoyed, the figure who turned out to be Tim, in a drenched coat, gritted his teeth and announced plainly, "Cake."

The party guests simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief, and proceeded to 'ooh' and 'ahh' happily at the welcome news of dessert.

As for the other two figures, Pennyworth and Steph respectively, they merely blinked before they resumed pushing in a tray filled from the top to the bottom with different assortment of cakes. As they began to lay each of the cakes out on the long dining table, Tim still hung back, cradling an ice box roughly the size of a basketball, his frame pushed to the background as others excitedly came forward to admire the generous display.

"Come, master Damian," his butler called him to the front of the dining table, and Damian obliged. He looked disinterestedly at the dazzling array before him, and as the lights in the room dimmed, briefly wondered why none of the cakes had birthday candles in them.

"Happy birthday to you~"

Only then did Damian notice the crowd behind him beginning to shift to one side. Curious, he looked back and couldn't believe his eyes.

The one singing, albeit squeaky, but nevertheless quite bravely, was none other than...Tim???

He held up a faintly green birthday cake, so small it barely took up the space of Tim's hands. A single, perfectly aligned, 18-shaped candle perched on top of said cake, and its flame glowed and wobbled as he carried the cake carefully towards the young Wayne.

"Happy birthday to you~"

As the crowd began to sing along, Tim's voice grew stronger, almost...as if he wanted Damian to listen to him, and only him?

_But, that couldn't be._

_What was he planning this time?_

The cake was placed in front of Damian, but he couldn't help but eye it warily as if it were a bear trap; some kind of elaborate puzzle piece that would shatter to pieces if he so much as touched it.

The tiny chocolate bat decoration in particular caught his attention.

He'd seen that somewhere before, he was sure of it.

"Happy birthday to—"

Although Damian refused to look at him directly, Tim wasn't fazed, choosing to continue standing besides him, even leaned ever so slightly closer to his ear as he sang:

"— _my_ Damian, Happy birthday to you~"

My.

Damian.

Not "Dear Damian", but " _My_ Damian".

The song came to an end, and everyone began clapping. Amidst the loud cheers, no one had caught on to Tim's special rendition. Seemingly emboldened by this, Tim then whispered quietly, "Happy birthday, baby bat."

Baby—

God, it was the bat. Of course.

Damian knew all of a sudden why that little decoration had felt so familiar.

That night, the night they...They were in the middle of patrol, four years ago on his very birthday. It was just a one-off comment, a slight interest he had taken in a rare vegan bakery shop's window as he passed it by. One of the rare times he had freely expressed a fleeting selfish desire of his.

A cake.

It was just a _stupid_ cake.

Why would anyone bother to remember, fuck...no, no, this was bad, this was really—

"Damian...are you...?" Dick's worried voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

The entire room had fallen silent, a hushed murmur rose and fell amongst the guests, whose faces were etched with concern and confusion as they all gawked at him.

Indeed, it was a strange sight to see.

For who would have thought? The proud and hot-blooded Damian al-Ghul Wayne, only son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al-Ghul, heir to the Batman mantle and the entire League of Assassins brought to tears...over a tiny green birthday cake.

But Damian couldn't care less about how he was being perceived right now.

He slowly turned to Tim, unable to put all of his jumbled thoughts into words and finally uttered a single, pained, "Why?"

_Why did you only come back here after three years?_

_Why did you remember something as insignificant as that if you didn't care about me?_

_And why? Why did you just leave me without saying a single goodbye?_

Tim held a blank face, "I've already told you."

Just then, a quietly furious Jon came through the crowd, his eyes faintly glowing dangerously red as he faced Tim.

"I'll give you 5 seconds to take the hint and leave. Haven't you hurt him enough already?"

"Stay out of it, boy. Let them deal with it."

Of all people, no one, least of all Damian expected his own father to speak up. Bruce shook his grave face sternly once, and the super teen reluctantly pulled himself back, still glaring daggers at Tim.

Damian was grateful for his father's words, but he would have to give his thanks later. He stepped closer towards Tim, and his right fist grabbed his collar, not unlike how they found themselves a few hours ago. Except this time, his hand was trembling, and the grip on the collar was gentle; fearful, almost.

"Answer me honestly, Timothy."

The tears in his eyes couldn't stop flowing.

" _Please._ "

The whole room held their breath in anxious anticipation for Tim's answer. They weren't sure exactly what was going on, everyone knew that the two were on bad terms, however, and wondered if they were on the verge of witnessing a full-blown fist fight firsthand.

Tim closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and opened them up again. His gray-blue eyes were clear and steady as he met Damian's, as was his voice as he simply replied:

"You."

His own hand came up and closed around Damian's clenched fist at his neck while the onlookers only grew more confused by his odd reply.

"It's. Always. Been. You." Tim's face was turning redder by the second, but he continued to grip their fists tightly together. "Didn't you hear me the first time, baby bat?"

Out of the corner of their eyes, Dick quietly coughed and choked on his own spit.

Meanwhile, Damian felt extremely light-headed, and his legs were about to give out under him, but he still mustered one last cautious response:

"...If you're telling the truth, then prove it, Timothy Jackson Drake."

The reaction...was not what Damian expected.

At first, Tim was taken aback.Then, for the first time in three years, Tim gave him a genuine, conspiratorial grin.

"Fine." _Watch me_ , his smile practically said.

Damian began to grow uneasy. Every single time he had seen that confident smile coming from Tim, he'd ended up losing their bets. Wait—

Steeling himself, Tim turned abruptly to Bruce, who had been patiently watching over their whole exchange by the sidelines, as were the other guests.

"Mr. Wayne."

".. Yes?" The older man raised his eyebrow amusedly.

Tim held up his hand and Damian's together, and bravely announced, "I'm leaving with your son whether you like it or not, but preferably with your blessing!" And then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Please!"

 _The FUCK._ Damian stared incredulously at Tim; did his beloved plan on losing his life so soon in his career?

Meanwhile, the entire room was in an uproar, with everyone immediately bursting into loud gasps and shocked exclamations at the bold, and quite frankly, suicidal statement.

No one, not even the League dared challenge _the_ Batman so openly without at least a healthy fear of losing a limb, or worse. Dick looked like he was about keel over and meet his maker, Jason and Steph were each giving them a cheery thumbs-up, and Cass was quietly recording the scandalous ordeal on her smartphone.

 _Of course. Of-fucking-course Tim would never turn down a challenge from him,_ Damian's tiresome brain decided to remind him a little too late.

_The crazy bastard._

Even more surprisingly, however, was that Bruce actually gave a rare smile back.

"Will you return him before midnight?"

"I can't promise anything, sir," Tim replied seriously.

"Hm." Bruce then turned gravely to Damian, "And is this what _you_ want, my son?"

He didn't even need to reconsider. "Yes, father," he breathed.

"Then you're both allowed to leave. Tim," Bruce nodded to both of them, a fiercely proud look in his eyes, "Take good care of him."

"Yes, sir."

Amidst the shouts, the whoops and the cheers, somehow Tim managed to pull a dazed Damian through the chaos of the crowd by his hand and together, they ran and ran through the mansion till they reached past the front door.

Tim laughed nervously as the pair got closer to his car, still giddy with the sudden rush of happiness and adrenaline. His shoes were haphazardly put on, and he fumbled with his car keys, dropping them for the third time.

"I-hhaha, oh god, I...I honestly didn't think this through; where are we supposed to go now?" He ran his hand through his windswept hair once, and giggled some more as it fell over his eyes again.

"Anywhere." Damian wiped the last of his tears on his black sleeves and gingerly laced their fingers together.

"Oh yeah? What if I was stationed on one of those weird intergalactic spaceships out there?" Tim teased, suppressing another surge of laughter as he imagined poor Damian grumpily floating around and bumping into random objects in a ridiculously large white spacesuit.

"Anywhere you are, is where I want to be. So yes, I'd follow you to the empty reaches of space if that's what it took," Damian replied truthfully. "So take me."

Tim's breath caught in his throat as he finally calmed down and took a good look at him; Damian had finally returned his smile. 

It was shy, serene and the last remnants of his laughter was still there. His soft lips were reddened and puffy from the recent crying, and his summer-green eyes only glowed warmer as the single light post above them illuminated his striking tanned features. Damian picked up the car keys, but instead of handing it over to Tim, he hid the keys in one hand while he inched closer and closer till Tim's back quietly thumped into the side of his car door. After brushing aside Tim's bangs, Damian tutted fondly before he put his ears and hands on Tim's chest, taking a quick listen. 

"Hmm," was all he'd said, but the fond look in his eyes told Tim that Damian had confirmed everything he'd needed to know.

Once again, Tim found himself unable to think straight; everything about Damian made no rhyme or reason, and it never did. It probably never would. Either way, he was done trying to make sense of it.

In the end, Tim finally gave in, blushing as he carefully leaned his head down, tilting the younger Wayne's chin up and thumbing over his jaw gently. Damian let his beloved do as he pleased and tiptoed to kiss Tim deeply, smiling even more as the tender kiss went on. Just as their lips parted, Damian whispered happily, almost as if his heart would break:

  
  


"Take me home, Tim."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah,,,a whole mess.
> 
> Welcome to the circus???
> 
> Please comment and scream @ me below about your fave parts from this chapter, and tell me your guesses for the last chapter!
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always!


End file.
